Home
by Bethofbells
Summary: Danny finds something unexpected when looking for his running shoes. A birthday fic gift for alittlenutjob. :D


**A/N: Best birthday Wishes to alittlenutjob!**

They were moving in together. Danny kept waiting for the idea to really sink in, to trigger some sort of panicky anxiety he knew was hiding under the surface. He was waiting for the jittery restlessness that had plagued him when he'd moved to Jersey with Christina. It had to still be there, he'd felt it every time he'd ever thought about making room in his closet for a girlfriend, every time he'd ever cleaned out one of the drawers in his bathroom for some girl. For years he'd just attributed it to his natural male instinct to stay independent, to have his own space.

It had never occurred to him that the panic blooming in his chest as his button downs were shifted to the side to make room for dainty dresses and impossibly short skirts was an indication of some deeper problem. He'd felt it every single time, and he just knew, that when Mindy shifted his toiletries aside to make room for her own lotions and perfumes, a fine sheen of perspiration would light on his brow, and the butterflies currently caged in his chest would be set free.

But none of that happened. Well, not exactly the way he thought it would anyway. He'd let out the breath he'd been holding, and nothing terrible had replaced it, no inescapable suffocation, no hundred pound boulder sitting on his chest. The feeling was… different when she started redecorating his apartment, discussing possibly knocking down the wall to the adjoining place. It was a warmth, thick like honey settling in his chest before it spread throughout his limbs. And yes, there was a catch in his throat when he covertly watched her, unpacking her unfathomably large collection of shoes, humming along to some pop song that had been playing on the radio that morning, but it wasn't disquieting. It was something he hoped would always afflict him.

At the moment, it was her ridiculously large army of shoes that filled his vision, a rainbow array of fashionable death traps placed in neat little rows along the shelves of his closet. His own now sitting like orphaned children underneath a small section of his slacks. He shook his head slightly, marveling at how underutilized the space had been before. A man only needed three, maybe four pairs of shoes, anything extra was just unforgivably frivolous.

He bent down to grab his tennis shoes, his fingers swiping at open air. What the hell? He swept aside his slacks, he metal hangers singing against the rod, to reveal a bare patch of hardwood. He sighed. She'd finally done it, he supposed. Thrown away the disgusting pair of running shoes he'd had since grad school. The worn out Nike's had literally been falling apart, but they were comfortable and broken in. Hell, they probably didn't even make this particular style any more. He groaned at the thought of shopping for a new pair, he plethora of styles and colors already zipping in and out of his mind. What a nightmare.

His eyes darted up to one very top shelf, lighting on a row of shoe boxes. He knew Mindy had dozens of pairs of athletic shoes tucked away, most of which had never even been worn. On pain of torture, he would never admit what he was about to do, to anyone, but there was a chance that she had at least one pair that wasn't rhinestone encrusted. There was a benefit to wearing the same size shoe as your live in girlfriend, even if it did put you in the somewhat awkward position of refusing to 'break in' her newest heels. A man had to draw the line somewhere.

He stood on the tips of his toes, grunting as he strained to reach the top shelf. She had shoe boxes stacked three high. He finally caught the edge of the bottom one, pulling it out about an inch before gravity took over and the entire stack came tumbling down on his head. He cursed as the avalanche settled around him, looking over his shoulder, a habit formed by the years spent in his mother's home, where cursing was confessable offense. He felt foolish for a minute, being completely alone and also an adult. He started to collect the mess around him, keeping an eye out for an acceptable pair of running shoes. He saved the plain brown box for last, hoping it would be the most likely to contain real running shoes. When he picked it up, it felt different, lighter maybe, it's contents shifting strangely as he rose.

It was plain brown cardboard, no logos emblazoned across it like all the others, two pieces of tape holding the lid firmly in place. That alone should have set alarm bells to ringing, but Danny was curious. Mindy was so open with him about damn near everything. He was sure there wasn't a thought that ran through her mind that she didn't voice immediately, especially with him. So yeah, this was strange, and his curiosity was piqued. It's not like she'd written 'private' across the top in her bold curly handwriting. He scraped his fingernail along the edge of the tape, peeling it up slowly, already thinking that he might just smooth the tape back down and pretend he never looked.

He flipped the lid back, the remaining piece of tape acting like a flimsy hinge of sorts as it flopped over. Danny stared into the box, his lips parting slowly as a sick feeling washed over him. Staring back at him was Casey. The blonde giant beaming the broadest grin he'd ever seen, Mindy looking tiny tucked under his arm. This was a box full of pictures of Casey? This was the first time he'd ever even entertained the notion that she might still have feelings for someone from her past. He could feel his stomach churning as he dipped his unsteady hand further into the box, fully expecting to find more pictures of pastor/dj/shoe salesman.

His insecurities, never _quite _buried as deeply as he'd like, broke the surface. He'd been expecting to feel some sort of hesitance about his relationship with Mindy, replaying over and over in his mind all the reasons they might not work, but this had never been one of those reasons. Now, it was astonishing to him that he'd never thought of it. Casey was, after all, someone she'd seriously thought about spending the rest of her life with, the only guy in a long succession of assholes who never really treated her badly.

Not only that, but the pastor turned DJ turned shoe salesman had the exact kind of personality he'd always expected Mindy to fall for. Gregarious, relentlessly optimistic, positive to the extreme. Everything Danny wasn't, even on his best days.

Danny clenched his jaw. Dwelling on his insecurities made him feel weak, a word he would otherwise never use to describe himself. In the past, it had been merely a matter of finding the right amount of amber colored liquor to dispel the feeling of weakness currently enveloping him, and that in itself was another weakness. A disgustingly vicious cycle, one that he'd seemingly broken free of recently. He closed his eyes, remembering the most recent time he'd made her laugh, a real laugh, not the clipped little titter she used to be polite, but the gut busting chuckle that lit up her eyes and slapped a smile across her face, the gasping laughter that sent tears streaming down her cheeks. He relaxed a little, his right hand clutching the box so tightly loosening its grip. Mindy was happy with him, and he was happy with her, happier than he ever expected to be.

He swallowed, the lump in his throat clearing a little as he withdrew a second photo. He had to force himself to look at it. He hoped fervently that it wasn't another picture of Casey. A frown instantly contorted his features, his lip curling up in confusion. His own face smiled back up at him, with Morgan filling one side of the frame. It was one that Mindy had taken, at the park or somewhere else outdoors, he couldn't even remember, hence the baseball cap.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out what his photo would be doing nestled in a box next to the smiling visage of Casey Peerson. He rooted around some more in the photos, the perplexed look on his face growing more defined as he found snapshots of Josh and Tom nestled in beside one of his old shirts.

Danny would have been embarrassed to admit how long it took him to realize what he was looking at. It wasn't until he pulled out the last photo, one of Cliff, Mindy nestled up against his chest, that he realized this was a box full of Mindy's failed relationships. Or rather, full of the men that had failed her.

And, as if by some twisted dark magic, there it was, that panic in his chest, a coldness washing over him, as he struggled to remember to breathe. It was fear, and for the first time he called it by it's true name. He was one of those men. Those men who'd failed her, hurt her, let her down. The proof was right here in front of him. The things he'd done, no better really even than that of Josh, the drug addled cheater.

Danny leaned back against the door frame, the flimsy cardboard box clutched to his chest, a lost expression darkening his eyes. It's not like he'd been oblivious to the fact that he'd hurt her. They'd had a long conversation before they truly restarted their relationship, and he'd apologized profusely. They'd both agreed to go about this differently, but seeing his own presence in her box of heartbreak shook him. He was still in that box. He was still entirely capable of letting her down, hurting her again.

No. Damn it. He wasn't going to be one of those guys, not again. She needed to know that, and it didn't really matter if she'd intentionally left him in the same category as the rest of these tools, or if she'd simply forgotten about the box altogether. The truth was, he knew he was a deeply flawed individual. He carried around his insecurities everywhere he went, letting them color his interactions with everyone in his life. He had one failed marriage under his belt, and a niggling thought in the back of his head that maybe he was just like his dad, maybe he just ran when things got tough.

Yes, he was screwed up, and he had the power to set their relationship on a path to sure destruction. That was him, Daniel Castellano. But, and suddenly it seemed so strange that he hadn't thought of it sooner, Mindy Lahiri loved Daniel Castellano. She told him so on a daily basis. He smiled, looking down at his own photo again. None of his crap mattered. Not really. The cold fear knotted in his chest released him, making way once again for the all encompassing warmth he associated with her.

He heard the front door slam shut, the noise reverberating through the apartment. She called out to him, the sound of her shoes sliding across the hardwood floor as she kicked them off a sure sign she had no plans on leaving. "I'm home."

Home. Yes, she was home. The word batted away the last of the fear still hovering in the corners of his heart. He stood on the threshold to their closet, his voice trapped in his throat, wanted to answer her, but not able quite yet to push past the tightness in his throat. She called out again. "Danny? Hellooooo… Are you home?"

He strode out into his bedroom, bare feet slapping against the hardwood as he paused briefly to take a steadying breath before he went to meet her in the kitchen. She had her back to him, rooting around in the fridge as he came up behind her. He watched her surreptitiously for a moment. Her hair was long, longer than he'd ever seen it, and she'd taken to twisting it together in a loose braid that hung down the middle of her back, flyaways framing her face whenever she got animated, which was pretty often. He couldn't count the number of times he'd hooked his fingers into the braid, pulling the plaits apart as the silken mass threaded through his fingers. He itched to do it now, but the nondescript brown box still in one hand pulled his attention away from it. "Min." Her name came out softly, and she whirled around in surprise, her mouth forming a little oh.

"God, Danny. You scared me." She was smiling as she turned toward him, letting the door swing shut. She leaned forward to put her arms around his neck, pulling him in close for a kiss. One sharp corner of the box poked into her abdomen. "Ow! What the… Wait, why do you have that?"

Danny set the box down on the counter, taking her face in his hands gently before drawing her into a thorough kiss. She was tense at first, still eager to have him explain himself, but she quickly relaxed into it, a soft little sigh escaping against his lips. It was so unexpectedly gentle, his fingers tracing along her cheeks as though she were made of glass. When she finally pulled away, she stared at him in open curiosity. "Danny… what's going on?"

He drew a shaky breath, maintaining contact with her skin. His fingers slipped down her neck, resting on her pulse. "Mindy, I don't belong in that box, not anymore."

She opened her mouth to answer him, but he cut her off, continuing. "I'm so much better than I used to be, better with you and because of you. I… I never want to be the cause for your pain again."

"Danny, that box, it-"

He shook his head, interrupting her again. "No, Mindy, please hear me out. When we moved in together, I kept expecting to feel trapped, find a restless discomfort over feeling displaced in my own apartment, simply because I'd felt it every other time someone got this close. But it never came, and I couldn't figure out why." He chuckled nervously. "I mean, I've never lived with someone more different from myself than you. You squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, and throw your towels in the floor, you don't mate your socks before tossing them in the drawer. Logically, this should terrify me, but it doesn't, and I finally figured out why, and it's all because of that box."

"But Danny, that box-"

He cut her off with a quick kiss. "Wait, please." She nodded, staring at him with wide eyes, as he pushed on. "That box reminded me that this is work, Mindy. That there are things about me that are going to make this hard, but there's nothing I would work harder for than you. So, no, making a home with you doesn't scare me like I thought it would, because we've worked so hard to get to this place, and you've been my home for so much longer than we've been living together. Your place, my place, the lounge, the subway. Home is wherever I'm with you."

She leaned into him, this time circling her arms around his waist before resting her head against his chest. Without looking up she spoke. "Danny, if you'd just listen. I thought I'd lost that box in the move. I never intentionally left you in there." She pulled back abruptly, struck by a sudden idea. "Let's burn it."

Her eyes lit up gleefully at the thought of torching her heartbreak box, and Danny wasn't one to argue with a woman intent on setting something on fire. She snatched it off the counter, rooting around in a drawer until she found her matches and lighter fluid, items procured for just such occasions.

Dragging his metal waste basket over to a window, she opened the casement before setting the few scraps of paper already crumpled in the bottom on fire. She held the box high over the basket, pausing for dramatic effect. "Here's to -" She stopped abruptly, a look of horror sweeping across her features. "God, Danny! You're still in there, you were gonna let me set you on fire?" She yanked off the lid, digging through the photos until she found the ones of Danny, an involuntary smile shifting across her features as she stared down at him. "God you're effing adorable in a baseball cap. This one's going on the fridge."

Danny laughed, taking the photos from her hands so she could return to her theatrics. She raised the box once more, gearing up for it's final destruction. "Here's to never having a heartbreak box again."

She dropped the whole thing on top of the licking flames, snatching up the lighter fluid again, this time squirting it over the box, her eyes lighting up as the flames jumped. "I'll second that." He drew her into an embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head as they watched the fire consume the past.

After a few minutes, the flames died away, and they were left standing by the window for no particular reason, the scene they'd created winding down, pulling them back to the reality of day to day life. Danny suddenly remembered something. "Do you know where my running shoes are? I hope you didn't actually throw them away beca-"

Mindy wrinkled her nose, pulling out of his embrace. "Of course not, I know how attached you are to those ratty things. They're in your disgusting gym bag where they belong. I'll not have them stinking up our closet."

He chuckled. "Maybe I will get rid of them, eventually."

"Yeah, when they completely disintegrate during a run and you have to walk home barefoot, maybe then."

He laughed, feeling light as he pulled her in for a quick peck on the lips before retreating to find his shoes. He went back into his closet, calling out behind him. "Yeah, maybe then."

This was the beginning, and it might not even be as much work as he'd thought.


End file.
